


Right of Caliber: Child of God Version

by lemon_and_chai



Series: Right of Caliber [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: BSDM, Lemon, M/M, Twisted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_and_chai/pseuds/lemon_and_chai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: The boys play tennis, but in this twisted world, the focus is not tournaments, but earning the Right of Caliber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right of Caliber: Child of God Version

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to kitty’s comments on the first Right of Caliber. This will be the same thing, but featuring Sanada and Yukimura. Fuufuu. 
> 
> Expect PWP and pron. 
> 
> Slight AU: For convenience, Yuki and Sanada met in middle school, rather than in a tennis club as children. There will also be no illness for Yuki, because that might give him some humility. And we can’t have that - yet.

Sanada fell to his knees, and slammed his fist against the court.

“It’s your third loss, Sanada,” Yukimura smiled sweetly, in a way that would have been kind if not for the situation. To the Spartan teen, it must have looked mocking. “You know what to do, now.”

After several more punches to the ground, Sanada pulled himself up, his eyes still glued to the floor. Really, Yukimura mused, the raven haired youth shouldn’t complain. While Yukimura rarely enacted his Right on those he defeated, making Sanada model nude for him was really not a big deal, especially compared to how losers were usually treated when the Right of Caliber was at stake.

Not that Yukimura knew personally. He always accepted a Challenge, and always won. It was funny how many people still challenged him - according to Yanagi, because of his long wavy hair and soft, effeminate features - when his reputation for victory had earned him the nickname, the Child of God.

And a godly tennis was his. He was the most nimble, the best at predicting his opponents, and quickly dismantling special tennis moves. His glory would have shone even without the looming threat of the Right, but he still enjoyed it. These pitiful tennis players, including many high schoolers, who thought they could have him, make his body theirs. He enjoyed crushing them, grinding them to bits, reminding them that they didn’t just lose to him, but they lost _painfully_ , often without gaining a single point.

Sometimes he wondered if he not only played godly tennis, but he himself was a god.

And then there was Sanada.

He’d met Sanada when they both joined their school’s tennis club, as sixth graders. The dark eyed boy was a serious, hard worker, who doubled the mandatory training menu, and followed the captain’s every command to a tee. 

Yukimura, on the other hand, only cared about the rules he liked, and the ones he set for himself. He trained in the way that made sense to him, which mostly meant through matches, and always meant through victory. He accepted Challenges even though freshman weren’t supposed to, but since he crushed his older opponents, there was nothing to be said. Soon he had beaten - no, _humiliated_ all the regulars, and Challenged the captain too.

For the first time, he enacted his Right, and made the captain pick up all the freshmens’ balls. Most of them were pretty bad, which meant the captain spent the whole day dodging around other club’s activities, and digging in the bushes.

Yukimura had no regrets when the captain, and more than half the regulars, resigned. They should have never gotten their places, anyway, which he blamed on favoritism over actual skill. 

“You went too far,” Sanada growled. He was the only one to speak out against Yukimura. Not even the upperclassman dared say anything to him.

“Nothing would have changed if I didn’t,” Yukimura shrugged, and gave a light, humoring smile. This freshman was so entertaining. 

“They should have had a fair chance to fight for their positions, against players other than you.” Those eyes turned even darker, as righteous anger flared within them. “You can’t win tournaments by yourself.”

“I’m a team player,” hummed the bluenette. “But I refuse to play with fools.” His smile sharpened. “I wouldn’t mind playing with you, though. How about it? We’ll play for the Right.” He had something in mind for this one.

“That’s against -”

“The rules?” Yukimura chuckled. “We have no captain, and no coach. Toshi-sensei only assists us on paper. The rules are whatever we want them to be, at this point.”

The other club members had gathered around them in a circle, and Yukimura could already see a few promising expressions. He’d been watching the racket swings, and knew who had experience and also who had potential. He had a very particular team in mind.

“. . . Fine,” said Sanada, and Yukimura could hear a few gasps. “But if I win, you’re going to apologize to everyone who quit, on your hands and knees.”

Yukimura outright laughed. “You’re the first one to promise something so small. Alright, then, let’s play.”

It turned out 6-0, just like Yukimura’s other matches.

But unlike those, every point had been hard earned. Yukimura knew he had just found his vice captain. And the freshman who stepped in to be referee, the quiet brunette who was sharply observing both of them, would be a regular too. 

The first time Yukimura painted him, Sanada was humiliated. Yukimura had always wanted a nude model, but it wasn’t something the elementary school would have, and, he’d learned, middle schoolers were also considered to young. Sanada was a bit lankier than he liked, though, so he asked Yanagi - the brunette referee - to come up with a protein and training menu that would help Sanada bulk up.

It worked like a charm.

Sanada set some sort of rule for himself, that he would only challenge Yukimura again when he had obtained a new skill.

Six months later, he charged at the bluenette with four of them - his fuu-rin-ka-zan techniques later would earn him the nickname of Emperor. 

But within a few sets, Yukimura had overcome them all, and the game ended 6-3.

They had another painting session, that was delightful for Yukimura, and for some reason still humiliating for Sanada. The bluenette would have thought his vice captain would be over it. He enjoyed the squirming, though, and the fine new layers of muscle. 

A soft rain of cherry blossoms hailed in their sophomore year. Sanada, for some reason, was growing at twice the rate as everyone else. Yukimura was growing taller but he still looked the same, and he found himself looking up at Sanada more and more. By the start of their senior year, Sanada was a full head taller than him.

He was quite delighted when Sanada challenged him a third time, and gave him a beautiful view of all those well defined muscled he’d developed. 

“Turn your elbow up… yes, like that… bit more… perfect,” Yukimura felt quite smug as he shaded in the dips in those arms. 

Sanada hadn’t developed any new techniques, but had challenged him anyway. Yukimura knew was it was about. The bluenette had broken rules again, and Sanada was trying to force him to stop.

Yukimura was accepting Challenges from high schoolers. Ones who had made it clear that they found the way he let his hair curl down around his ears, and his slender waist that had never thickened, quite appealing. Yukimura couldn’t hold back, he had to destroy them, so he laughed and accepted every Challenge. Even though high schoolers were not supposed to challenge middle schoolers in the first place.

It was cute, Yukimura mused, as he painted dark tones along Sanada’s rectangular nose, that his vice captain would be worried about him. He felt like Sanada was staring so intensely at him lately. In a way he wasn’t used to. 

And even though this was the third time painting Sanada in the nude, the senior was acting like it was the greatest shame of his life. He had finally filled in in every place, stomach formed into a washboard and his chest with a life of its own, but he’d insisted, begged really, on wearing a cloth over his privates. 

It was unheard of for someone to deny the one who won a Challenge, but Yukimura supposed he could let it go for the sake of their friendship, and the fact he never took the Challenge very seriously. That Sanada would break this kind of rule in the first place was worrying, anyway, and it was just a painting. Yukimura had a very vivid imagination.

But, in exchange the cloth, he made Sanada promise to Challenge him again in a few months. The Spartan quickly agreed, and said he had planned to do so anyway. 

Over the next several week Yukimura forgot about it, between the selection of regulars and the training camps and school work and the other Challenges. Few middle schoolers challenged him nowadays, so most of his opponents were older. Sanada seemed to know, if his glare every time they were in the locker rooms was any indication, but stayed silent - as he should.

“Tomorrow,” Sanada said to him, one day during practice. His eyes were dark and his voice as hard as diamonds. They didn’t speak again for the rest of the day.

Yukimura usually slept well, but that night he tossed in the sheets. Sanada stormed into his dreams, in his bare naked glory, and Yukimura had studied those muscles so intently that each flexed beautifully in his subconscious. The dream was like all dreams, where the events were jumbled and didn’t make sense, and they went from being in the locker rooms to being in his own room, and Sanada was on the bed with him, and he could _feel_ all those ripped muscles that he had never dared touch, with his own hands.

A serious look was in Sanada’s eyes, but not the harsh, judging glare the bluenette was used to. This was a look of determination, and, Yukimura knew because it was his own dream, desire. Desire that was reflected in Yukimura’s own dark blue eyes. 

And then they were having sex, and Yukimura had never had sex, so in his dream, everything was vague and he didn’t really know how they did it. But he woke up sticky and flushed, long before sunrise, and he couldn’t believe he’d had a wet dream, and about his vice captain no less. 

He closed his eyes, and remembered Sanada’s expression from the dream.

Sanada’s expression on the court was completely different. The fierce determination, to bring Yukimura to his knees, to make him apologize for all the rules he had broken and the people he had humiliated, the burning anger that Yukimura had used to drive the team during training - all of that flared viciously in those dark eyes as Sanada smashed the ball. 

Yukimura returned the smash, of course, but something today was different. Every time he thought Sanada was going to fall to the yips, he’d see Sanada’s nostrils flare, those muscles ripple, and he’d remember his dream.

And he’d make a mistake.

A small mistake, moving his racket just not quite in the right spot, angling just a little too much, or not swinging with enough force. But he’d lose the point, and also his mental advantage. 

His yips were not working. But he didn’t need them to win. He broke Sanada’s techniques. His returns were all glorious and strong. He was going to win. Of course he was going to win - he was the child of god. 

And then something dark, almost black, flared around Sanada. It was an aura, a strength, beyond merely technique, and when the ball flew back towards Yukimura - he could see it, yes, he could see where it would be, but he just couldn’t… he couldn’t return it. 

“Six-six,” Sanada snarled, and Yukimura felt a shudder run up through his body. He had never, ever tied with someone before. 

Yes, Sanada had been catching up to him lately. But that just meant Sanada was stronger than everyone else. Everyone but Yukimura. Yukimura was always one platform above.

This was not right. 

Sanada had been on top of him in his dream. That had not been right, either.

Yukimura finally managed to focus, now that he knew the score. He couldn’t believe he’d even lost track. 

But that black aura was something else. It swirled up like the devil, challenging god. It was angry, and twisted, and as it grew, so did the power and speed of Sanada’s returns.

He knew he could return them. He knew he could break them. He just had to figure them out, to begin the glow of his own, the godly aura that he usually had, that he hadn’t been able to wrap around himself today.

The tie breaker didn’t give him enough time.

His racket clattered to the floor. 

Yukimura couldn’t remember losing. He must have, as a child. But at that moment, he couldn’t remember a single other game he’d lost.

“I’m enacting my Right,” Sanada growled.

Yukimura felt his breath catch. He’d forgotten about that.

“Put away your things,” Sanada ordered.

Without saying a word, Yukimura packed up his racket and sweats, and stored them in the locker rooms. His heart raced as he wondered what Sanada wanted him to do. If his vice captain hated him, now was his chance to make him miserable. And the way Sanada was staring at him, even though he’d won, with blazing eyes and a heavy frown, Yukimura was pretty sure he was hated.

Sanada didn't give another order, but instead grabbed Yukimura’s wrist and dragged him out of the locker room. On his shoulder he had a duffle bag, and Yukimura felt appalled that Sanada had been so confident of his victory that he had prepared something for the Right. The bluenette had missed something, during their last match. Sanada had been testing him, and saving that new aura for this specific match.

Sanada unlocked the gym, with the keys he had as head of the disciplinary committee. Yukimura rubbed his wrist, where a bruise was starting to form from how hard Sanada had gripped him. He wondered if the vice captain knew his own strength.

He almost tripped on the doormat as he was shoved inside. Sanada shut the door behind him, and some of the lights started coming on as the motion sensors were triggered. But most of the gym was dark. 

No one was at the school today.

“Go stand under the basket ball hoop, and take off your clothes.”

Yukimura opened his mouth, then closed it. This was what it meant to lose a Challenge. Even if his vice captain hated him, he had not expected Sanada to be so vindictive. 

He left his slippers and socks by the door, then made his way across the court while pulling off his shirt. Sanada was stomping behind him, while unzipping the duffle bag and pulling something out. Yukimura looked at the ground while he pulled off his shorts, hesitating for a moment before sliding off his boxers. It was just like being in the locker room showers, he reasoned, but a blush burned across his cheeks, anyway. 

_Clang._

He looked up to see Sanada had thrown a rope over the basketball hoop, and was tugging it down. He started to shiver, and not because it was cold.

His heart started to pound.

Sanada grabbed his wrist, and looped the rope around it. He did the same thing with the other end of the rope, and then started to weave the rope around Yukimura’s arms. The bluenette felt like he couldn’t breath. He didn’t understand what was happening, and he was terrified. 

Sanada kept tying and hooking the ropes, and soon Yukimura’s upper body was securely fastened, with two ropes going around his chest, his nipples centered between them, and the ropes twisting around his upper arms and shoulders. 

The ropes pulled him up so tight, he had to stand on his toes.

“You’d look good in a painting,” Sanada jeered, and Yukimura’s whole body flushed with shame and fear. He knew there were rules to the Right of Caliber, about no permanent consequences, that meant there were limits. But he’d made paintings, even though he’d kept them to himself, and he wondered how his vice captain plotted to repay him, as he’d been forced to sit for hours in the nude under the blue haired painter’s eyes. 

Sanada walked around his captive, getting a good view of everything. Yukimura felt like he was being eaten by that dark, iron hard stare. 

“How many did you paint?”

“Wha- what?” Yukimura startled, not expecting to be questioned.

“All those people that you beat. You must have enjoyed painting them. Or did you go further?”

“I never-”

Sanada stuck his fingers in the bluenette’s mouth, so that he couldn't answer. Squirming, Yukimura considered biting them, but was too afraid of the consequences. He tried to get his mind to work, to figure out what this was all about, why Sanada would think his captain would paint anyone but him. 

The fingers in his mouth pushed back towards his throat, pressing down his tongue and making him want to gag.

“Suck on them,” Sanada ordered, as if the bluenette could do anything else. Sanada’s fingers were well proportioned with the rest of him, and Yukimura’s eyes teared up as he felt like he was starting to choke. 

Sanada pulled out his fingers with the sound of a slurp, and Yukimura felt saliva dribble down his chin.

“Do you ever practice with your tongue?”

“.... I …” Yukimura was about to speak, when he saw those fingers move towards his mouth again. He realized he wasn't supposed to respond, just let Sanada vent whatever he wanted to at him. 

The fingers slowed above his mouth, then touched his lips with a surprising tenderness. They slipped down his chin and around his neck, the thumb massaging his adam’s apple, and Yukimura felt a small strike of terror that Sanada would choke him. But then the touch moved on, down across his chest, over the ropes and onto his stomach, exploring his abs which were vibrating with exhaustion. Holding himself up on his toes was taking its toll. 

Then those exploring appendages rolled down and cupped his balls, and began massaging them. 

“I’ve never met anyone with confidence like you,” the Spartan murmured. 

_What about you?!_ Yukimura thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud. He was by no means the king of confidence - he suspected Atobe one upped him on that one - but he knew what he was better than everyone else at, and that was tennis. He’d only have acted on that knowledge, and it didn't pervade anywhere else in his life. He had so many flaws when it came to school and friends and family. He was aware more than anyone else of the things he couldn't do.

Not like Sanada. His vice captain had everything. The build. The body. The family that supported him through everything. That righteous will that guided him and made him believe in both his strength and the strength of others, so heavily that he challenged them to go beyond themselves, punishing them when they didn't achieve what he knew, _knew_ they could. 

Yukimura would have given up on them. Left them all to rot.

And Sanada was punishing him for that.

Though right now, the movements of Sanada’s hands didn't feel like punishment. Both hands now worked on the massage, making his balls and penis warm and tighten. He barely had time to touch himself, and to be touched by someone else… 

He’d never been touched by anyone but his own mother, and it had been ten years since she last bathed him. 

“Ooh,” he moaned, unable to contain his voice. 

Sanada rubbed faster.

Yukimura’s mouth dropped open, as all sorts of sounds fell out from it. He couldn't believe how good this felt, didn't understand why he didn't take more time to pleasure himself. Sanada somehow knew just where to touch, what spots were sensitive, what lines to stroke, places the bluenette never knew he had.

As the rubbing intensified, so did the tensing of his muscles. His knees shook, his hips bucked, he was tired and tense and ready, and he wanted, he wanted…

The hands stopped.

Gasping, Yukimura felt slashed by cold air as those magical fingers moved away. He was so close, his penis beaded with precum, and it pointed right up, waiting, wanton…

Sanada laughed.

It was a low rumble, in the back of his throat. But Yukimura heard him. Sanada was laughing at him, at how pathetic he was. Even with his head thrown back and eyes glazed, he could feel the Spartan’s intense glare all over his body, his sweat laden skin. He was being taunted, and he deserved it, and he knew it.

After all, he had lost.

_Slap._

“A-aa,” Yukimura squealed, as his ass was slapped by that mighty palm. His vice captain had punished so many with that palm, especially losers… losers like him. 

_Slap. Slap._

It hurt, but it didn't hurt. 

He deserved it, and the punishment felt good even though it was painful.

And his body, still tense and desperate for touch, took even the pain as stimulation. Eagerly, his hips swung back, desperate for the feel of skin on skin.

_Slap. Slap. Slap._

The palm stopped.

“Aaah!” Yukimura screamed as a thick finger jammed into his ass hole, without any warning.

It went all the way up, it had to have been, it hurt so much, felt so deep.

“Hah… hah…” The bluenette panted, his knees buckling and his arms pulling at the binds. 

Then the finger pulled out.

“Uhhohh…” Moaning in relief, Yukimura’s head dropped forward.

“Hmph,” Sanada snorted. “Of course you’ve never bottomed.”

Yukimura’s brain tried to process what his vice captain meant. Was it so obvious, that Yukimura had never had sex before? He knew everyone thought he was a slut, that he took all those Challenges to have sex, and he’d overheard enough to know they thought he rode people. That he was so girly, with his lengthy hair and slender body, he’d want to be a girl, but want to be in charge. They had all sorts of theories about him, but which one had Sanada believed?

“Did you fuck every one? Every one of them but me?”

Sanada was playing with his butt cheeks, opening and closing them. Yukimura gasped and whimpered as he felt that thick, infamous appendage press up against his hole. He’d seen it for himself in the lockers, knew that everyone agreed it was the biggest in the school. 

“Sana… it’s…” his voice came out in weak trembles, his exhaustion and fear filling him head to toe.

“It’s what?!” Sanada snarled.

“... My first…” 

“Liar!” 

His eyes welled up, as reality finally hit him. His virginity, which was the only thing he’d kept in tact his whole life - not his pride, not his family, not his friendships, not even his tennis club, which would surely be splintered after this - his purity was something he always had, but never treasured.

Sanada grabbed his thighs, and pulled them up.

“Aaaaah, aaah!” 

Yukimura’s screams filled the gym, as Sanada’s oversized penis filled him. He couldn't take it, he was tearing, he was sure he was going to tear in half. 

It didn't even make it in that far.

Sanada squeezed his legs hard with his hands, holding him in place with the aid of the ropes. His descent now was slow, controlled. Yukimura still felt like a racket was being forced inside of him, but at least his hole had time to widen, a little anyway. 

“Nnn… aahhh… Sa… nnn…..” 

He kept sinking, so slowly, until finally, it seemed like he couldn't sink down any more. He could feel Sanada’s balls squished up against his butt, hard and hot. Tears spilled down his cheeks. At least they weren't moving. Sanada just held him there, breathing in and out heavily, and Yukimura could feel every hot breath against his ears. 

Finally his legs were lowered, but he didn't have the energy to hold himself up again. The rope did most of the work, and it was tied elaborately enough to distribute the pressure around his upper body. Sanada had slipped out a little, but was still deep inside of him.

Sanada grabbed his penis, and stroked.

“ _Ooh,_ ” Yukimura wasn't sure if he moaned or whimpered. He didn't know if he felt good or bad. Sanada was using those magical fingers again, but the fire in his ass was impossible to ignore.

His muscles finally started to relax, and it got better. Sanada moved, just an inch or so, in and out, and it didn't feel like it tore. Everything was slick, like Sanada had coated his dick with something, and Yukimura knew just enough lube jokes to put two and two together. 

He really knew nothing about sex.

Sanada started moving in and out in earnest, grunting as he went. He stroked Yukimura too, and played with his nipples, and licked his neck, and then his hands and tongue were every where. Those hands went up and down the bluenette’s thighs, massaging them as that penis started striking something inside him, something that made his insides tingle. He started to want the thrusts in, to feel that sensation again and again. It was just as pleasant as Sanada’s fingers massaging his balls.

He was getting so hard again. The precum dribbled down his shaft. Sanada moved faster and faster, and Yukimura moaned with every thrust. The slapping of Sanada’s thighs hitting his ass mixed in with the moans, and the vice captain’s grunts, and it was a weird cacophony that echoed through the space, and then there was the friction, the heat, the pain, the pleasure, and- and- 

“Ooooooaaaa,” Yukimura moaned loudly as he came. Sanada must have cum too, as he pushed hard and deep against the bluenette’s hips. The Spartan growled, his fingers digging hard into his captain’s sides.

“..hah….hah….hah…” 

Yukimura panted for a long time, even as Sanada undid the rope. He collapsed the moment the support was gone, but his vice captain caught him, and lowered him slowly onto the ground. 

His body spasmed, and he groaned as he felt all his sore spots, but there was a weird flash of pleasure too that made him moan. A sticky warmth leaked out of his butt hole, and he could feel it sliding down his inner thighs.

“. . . I’m not done.” Sanada spoke almost coldly, but there was a passion there Yukimura had never noticed before. It was deep and hidden, but it was warm.

“. . . I… ah….” He had no strength to protest, as Sanada rolled him on his stomach, and pushed his knees under him. 

The Spartan covered him with his large body, covering his hands with larger ones.

And then Sanada went back in.

* * *

THE END


End file.
